by Tracy Grant
So said his mind. But his body told him he was a fool. He'd take whatever she gave him, even if it was only crumbs from the table. It had always been that way between them. He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked down at the sleeping woman beside him. Her eyes were shut and her mouth was curved in a faint smile. For the moment she was happy and at peace.
Adam stayed very still, savoring the sight of her, subduing the impulse to touch her. He would have to wake her soon so she could return to Emily, but not just yet. For a little while he wanted to watch the pure line of her profile and the pale mass of her hair spread on his pillow, remembering the passion and solace they had shared, not thinking of the bitterness which inevitably followed their moments of intimacy.
Caroline's eyes flickered open. She stared up at him, first in puzzlement, then in dawning understanding. Her clear eyes darkened. Adam felt a sharp pain, like a knife thrust in his heart. Their brief escape was over.
Chapter Eight
Caroline turned and pushed herself up to a half-sitting position, leaning against the wall behind them. Her gown was still pulled down, revealing her shoulders and the tops of her breasts, and her hair fell in disarray about her face. Adam watched her, every impulse held in check. She had the right to make the first move, to leave the room without saying a word if she wished.
"The storm's stopped," Caroline said.
At least it was not an outpouring of anger or grief. And it offered them neutral ground on which they could attempt to collect themselves. "Yes." Adam hesitated. There was no graceful way to handle such a scene, but he wanted to make it easy for her. "Caro—These are strange times." It seemed woefully inadequate.
"I know," Caroline said. "Adam—"
"It's natural to cling to anyone who's there," Adam continued quickly. "We none of us act as we would—"
"Adam," Caroline said again.
Adam broke off and looked at her. Her mouth curved slightly. "I'm not sorry it happened," she said.
Her eyes looked dark and enormous in her thin, pale face, but Adam realized there was no anger in them, no censure, no guilt. His head swam. The scene was not progressing as he had expected and happiness always made him feel a bit drunk. "Nor am I," he told her.
"I'm not a child anymore," Caroline said. "I can take responsibility for my actions."
Adam managed to smile. "That's something children often do far better than their elders." He hesitated again. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to run his fingers through her silky hair and brush them against her soft, fragrant skin, but he was not yet sure he had the right to do so. "I thought—"
"That it would be like five years ago?" Caroline still spoke calmly, but a bleak note had crept into her voice. "We were two different people then."
No, Adam wanted to scream, that's just it. He had thought he'd recovered from his obsession with her, but when he saw her again he knew that had been an empty illusion. He would never be free of her. "We'll never change completely, Caro," he said, not sure if his words were a statement or a warning.
Caroline turned her head away. "I don't want to talk about the past, Adam. It doesn't matter. At least not now. I've been wishing I could live in the present, like Emily, and I think I've finally begun to do so."
With those words, Caroline had defined the bounds of their relationship. They would offer each other comfort, but make no demands. Caroline refused to speak of the past or the future. Adam could not forget the past and he saw, with a sense of bitter inevitability, what lay in the future. Returned to safety and her old life, Caroline would no longer need him. What had drawn them together would be gone, and the scars of the past would remain.
But all that lay ahead. Caroline had offered him the moon, however briefly, and no future pain could lessen the wonder of her gift. Adam reached out, brushed her hair back from her face, and let his palm rest against her cheek. Despite the stirring he felt in his loins, he did no more. Whatever was between them, it was still as fragile as spun glass. Caroline smiled in acknowledgement and laid her fingers over his own. He thought he saw a reflection of his own longing in her eyes, but she said, "I must go. Emily might wake."
"Yes." Keeping his eyes on her face, Adam withdrew his hand, got to his feet, and helped her to stand. He did up the buttons on the back of her gown and found the scrap of muslin he had pulled from its neck. Caroline did not speak, but at the door she turned and smiled at him. Adam smiled back, conscious of the awareness coursing through his body, and subdued the impulse to kiss her. If he did, he would never be able to let her go.
When Caroline had left the room, Adam returned to the pallet. He could still see the impression of Caroline's head on the pillow, and a few strands of pale hair glowed against the bedclothes. He was certain he would not sleep, but he must have drifted off, for suddenly he opened his eyes to find gray light seeping through the shutters. It was dawn, and with dawn came responsibilities and the need to think. He put his clothes to rights, pulled on his boats, which were nearly dry, and went out onto the gallery.
Caroline's door was still closed. Adam resolutely ignored it and made his way downstairs. Consuela, who was tidying the common room, smiled at him. He called out a greeting and continued on to the kitchen, where he found Hawkins pouring hot water from an iron kettle into a tin pot. "The last of our coffee," Hawkins said, looking up at Adam's entrance. "I begged a bit of hot water from Señora Duenas. There's enough for you to have a shave."
Adam had often laughed at the idiocy of English soldiers who insisted upon remaining clean shaven under any conditions. But it was wise to take advantage of the comforts of civilization when one could. And if he was to spend any more nights with Caroline—
His shaving kit was on the table. Hawkins, who had already shaved himself, must have brought it in from the stable. Adam filled a bowl with hot water and carried it to the table, aware all the time of Hawkins's appraising gaze upon him. Adam had known an inquisition of this sort was inevitable. It was probably as well to get it over with as quickly as possible. "There was no trouble with the horses?" Adam asked, rummaging in the shaving kit for his razor, a bar of shaving soap, and a small, battered mirror.
"None at all. I slept like a log," Hawkins said. Then in the same bland tone, he added, "I daresay I had a more restful night than you did."
"Go to the devil," Adam said, lathering his face.
"I went there a good dozen years ago, if my mother's to be believed." Hawkins lifted the lid on the coffeepot, sniffed the contents, and removed the muslin bag of grounds. "I must say it's a nice change to see you smiling again."
Adam wiped the dust from the mirror and propped it up against the water bowl. "It's remarkable what being away from bandits and rivers and storms can do for one's disposition." He picked up his razor as the door opened and Caroline and Emily came into the room.
Emily looked at Adam and giggled. "Your face is all white."
"We've caught him at a disadvantage," Caroline told her daughter. "A gentleman doesn't expect to be observed by ladies while he's completing his toilet."
"True enough." Adam grinned conspiratorially at Emily. "I trust you'll keep my secret."
Emily giggled again. Adam raised his eyes and looked at Caroline. She was wearing one of her own dresses again, rumpled but dry, and her hair was pinned neatly into place. Her face had lost some of the hollow, pinched look that had been so pronounced when he first saw her in Acquera, and there was a welcome touch of color in her cheeks. The color deepened under his regard. She turned away and urged Emily toward the table.
Hawkins created a diversion by serving the coffee, demonstrating his chivalrous nature as well as his keen awareness of what had passed between his friend and Caroline. Señora Duenas soon came in to take her morning baking from the oven. In the bustle of eating breakfast and preparing to depart, Adam avoided looking directly at Caroline, partly so he would not cause her embarrassment, partly because he feared he might betray himself.
Outside in the cool morning
air, they said farewell to Señora Duenas and Consuela. Adam lifted Caroline into the saddle as he had done many times before. But this time she did not flinch at the touch of his hands on her waist. As she made a show of settling her skirts, she spared him a brief but quite radiant smile. Adam swung up onto Baron, feeling his heart lighten and his spirits soar. It was probably mad and certainly dangerous to be so happy, he thought, reaching down for Emily, who was to ride with him,
Emily seemed to have caught her mother's mood. She gave a squeal of delight when Adam swung her onto the saddle before him. As they rode out of the village, she glanced about with wide, curious eyes. It was a fine, clear day, the air filled with the freshness that follows a storm. They were still on the meseta, the plateau which runs through central Spain, but in contrast to the steep rocky heights of the first days of their journey, they now rode through open flatland. The air was warmer and heavier here than it had been in the mountains, with a hint of dampness from the nearby river. Shoots of new grass, nurtured by the rain and warmed by today's sun, pushed their way up between the dead, frozen winter vegetation, offering a welcome glimpse of green.
The weather and the less rugged terrain affected all of them, including the animals, who found the plains far easier going than the mountains. Even the mule seemed less truculent. Hawkins began whistling under his breath. Caroline pushed back the hood of her cloak and lifted her face to the sun. Emily twisted round in the saddle and looked up at Adam. "You've known Mama for a long time, haven't you?"
Adam was taken aback. Emily chattered to Hawkins, but she was quieter when she rode with him. Considering his strained relationship with her mother, Adam had decided perhaps this was as well. Now, looking down into Emily's wide brown eyes, he wondered how much the child sensed about the changes in that relationship. "Since we were children," he said, feeling his way carefully.
"You mean Mama was a little girl when you met her?" Emily asked, as though the thought of her mother as a child was a new concept.
"She was seven years old."
Emily screwed her face up with concentration. "That's more than three years older than me," she said, as though three years was a great expanse of time.
"So it is," Adam agreed. "But it's a great deal younger than I am."
"Did you know my Aunt Jane too?" Emily asked.
"I certainly did." Though he had not known her as well as he knew Caroline, Adam had always liked Jane.
"She writes us letters," Emily said. "We used to live with her, but I can't remember it. It was when we were in England. Did you know Aunt Fanny and Aunt Sophia and Uncle James? I've never seen them at all."
"Yes." Adam felt his mouth tighten. Emily's words confirmed his suspicion that Jane was the only one of Caroline's siblings who had stood by her after Jared's disgrace. He had a sudden image of James Bennet's complacent face and felt a great desire to bloody James's nose, as he had more than once when they were boys. For the first time, Adam wondered what Caroline would do when she reached England. When he set out for Acquera, he had assumed she had a comfortable home to return to, but that was before he knew Jared's family had cast him off. Now it appeared she could not count on her own family for support either.
Emily, who had turned back to the horse, looked up at him again. "Did you know my father?"
Baron started as Adam's hands clenched on the reins. Adam steadied Emily and gave the horse a soothing pat. "I met him. But his family didn't live as near to the village where I grew up as your mother's did." It had been impossible for anyone who lived within miles of Finley-Abbott not to be aware of the Rawley family. Adam hesitated, knowing his response was inadequate. Emily was searching for information about the father she had recently lost and he was the worst person on earth to supply it. "Your father was a brave man, Emily." That must have been true, in the end. It would have taken more bravery than he had thought Jared Rawley possessed for Jared to enter the army and face the ghosts of his past.
"That's what Mama says, and Aunt Adela," Emily said in a surprisingly matter-of-fact voice. "I didn't see him very much. He was with the army."
Adam found himself wondering what sort of father Jared had been. Emily did not speak of him with a great deal of grief, but then thanks to the war she would have seen little of him. Had Jared appreciated what a miracle a child—Caroline's child—was? Had he charmed Emily as he had once charmed her mother? In their brief time together, had he and Caroline and Emily been a happy family? Had they—
No. Adam willed his thoughts in another direction. He would drive himself mad with such questions. And he had no right to ask them.
Emily, he realized, was still talking to him. "Are you going to England with us?"
Another question he did not want to face, another reminder of a future he did not want to think about. "Hawkins and I will see you to Lisbon," Adam said. "You and your mother will get a ship for England from there."
"But you aren't going to come with us?" Emily asked, frowning.
"Mr. Durward has to stay in Portugal." Caroline, who had been riding a little behind, pulled up her horse beside them. "He has work to do there."
Adam looked at Caroline, wondering how much of his conversation with Emily she had overheard, but she was looking at Emily and he could read no clue in her face.
"Mr. Durward says he knew you when you were seven," Emily told her mother.
"So he did." To Adam's relief, Caroline smiled. "A great many years ago."
"No so very many," Adam retorted, grinning himself. "Don't put ideas in the child's head."
Emily giggled, but with that surprising instinct children often have, she asked no more questions about the past. Instead she began to inquire about the surrounding landscape. Adam answered as best he could, forcing his thoughts away from Caroline's marriage and the future that awaited them at the end of the journey.
Though he was still avoiding the main roads, there were signs of human habitation everywhere. They passed corn fields that were beginning to show signs of early growth, and vineyards, still dry but with a few new leaves swelling on the grape vines. Villages, a rare sight in the mountains, now dotted the landscape with regularity. Emily counted them, until there were so many that her store of numbers ran out.
Several times they encountered villagers out gathering kindling or tending a few sheep or goats that had not fallen into the hands of one army or another. Adam made it a point to stop and exchange greetings. Not to do so would draw unwelcome attention to their party. For the same reason, he decided it would be best to seek shelter in an inn when night fell. There were no caves and few trees to offer them protection, and it would look suspicious if they chose to camp when there were villages so nearby.
He suggested as much to Caroline and Hawkins when they stopped to refresh themselves late in the afternoon. They both agreed, but there was a glint of amusement in Hawkins's eyes and Caroline became very busy wiping a smudge from Emily's face. Adam told himself that his decision had nothing to do with the fact that if they lodged in an inn Caroline would again be able to visit his room. And then he told himself he was a fool and a damn bad liar.
As dusk began to fall, they stopped at Norilla, a village near Tordesillas, on the banks of the Duero. It was smaller than Talcona, and its one inn was rougher than Señora Duenas's establishment. Shouts and laughter and snatches of ribald song greeted them when they stepped into the common room. The air was heavy with smoke from the open fireplace and with the smell of stale wine. But it was warm, the cooking pot over the fire gave off a welcome aroma, and the innkeeper assured them there were rooms to be had. Keeping an arm round Caroline, Adam moved toward a table against the back wall, the most sheltered spot available.
Caroline seemed undaunted by her surroundings. She unfastened her cloak, pushed it back from her shoulders, and drank the harsh red wine the innkeeper served them as if it were the finest claret. There was laughter in her eyes and Adam felt an answering laughter welling up inside him. Emily traced the initials carved in th
e tabletop and made up stories about the people who had put them there, calling on the adults for assistance. It was obviously a game she and Caroline had played before. Hawkins proved to be adept at it, and Adam found himself entering into it with enthusiasm as well. It seemed a long time since he had allowed his imagination to run free.
They ate bowls of stew, liberally laced with garlic, perhaps to compensate for the shreds of dry, toughened meat, and lingered about the table, talking and laughing and enjoying the most peaceful evening they had spent since the start of their journey. Adam was leaning back against the wall, studying Caroline's pointed chin and winged eyebrows and the wisps of hair which clung to her face, when, above the babble of voices, he heard the sound of a fist connecting with flesh and bone.
"That'll teach you, you miserable little coward."
Adam looked round to see a burly, bearded man hurl these words at a thin youth in his early twenties who was doubled over with pain from a blow to the stomach. The youth straightened up with an effort but the bearded man delivered a cut to the jaw that sent the younger man crashing to the floor. He landed not five feet from where Adam was sitting, cracking his head against the crude brick floor. For a moment he appeared to be stunned. Then he opened his eyes and stared straight at Adam, a look of pleading on his long face. "Señor—"
The bearded man was advancing again, the light of battle in his eyes, his fist drawn back to attack. If there was anything Adam hated more than wanton violence, it was the sight of the weak being persecuted. As Caroline drew in her breath, he pushed himself to his feet, moved between victim and attacker, and aimed a blow at the bearded man's belly.
